


Alive and Free

by FlightOfInsanity



Series: Halo Shorts [9]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family Angst, Forerunners, Gen, Implied Character Death, here comes the pain train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightOfInsanity/pseuds/FlightOfInsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chakas and Riser weren't the only guests of the Master Builder to wind up on Installation 07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive and Free

Watching his friend get ferried away by Lifeworkers was one of the hardest things Bornstellar had ever had to do.

No.

It was one of the hardest things the _Didact_ had ever had to do; he hadn’t been Bornstellar for a while now. But seeing Chakas, his old human friend and someone he’d thought dead, actually alive had conjured up long suppressed memories of their misadventures on the ring island. Those memories of a confident and lively young human, and of a foolish and bold Manipular, mixed with what his eyes had just shown him and brought an unexpected wave of sadness.

Chakas, like many of the others they had found, had been methodically tortured by his captor. Cut up and pulled apart and put back together with surgical precision before being forcibly merged with another tortured being. He, at least, had still been an individual, only the light mesh netting connecting his mind to the infected Forerunner behind him and to the control node in front. He, at least, could still be recovered.

They’d found several more recoverable humans and a few Forerunners, but most of the bodies were too lost to infection and torture to do much of anything. They simply stood, misshapen lumps of flesh and armor with eyes, where there were still eyes, which showed their pain and desperation. Standing, waiting for release.

He head footsteps behind him and shook himself from his thoughts, turning slightly to regard the person approaching. It was a Lifeworker, not much older than himself, who stopped several paces away. The Lifeworker repeatedly wrung her hands together, glancing at the Didact’s face, then at the ground, then at any object that happened to not be the Warrior-Servant she’d been sent to summon.

“We found–” she started, then faltered. “It’s your–” she faltered again.

 _Not good,_ the imprinted wisdom noted. It was mostly silent now, but occasionally still offered its opinions. Obviously this was not good, Bornstellar thought with a pang of irritation, but _nothing_ about this mission had been good.

The Lifeworker took a shaky breath and squared her shoulders, mentally steeling herself. She looked the Didact in the eyes and the confidence evaporated, but she managed to say, “You need to see this.”

He followed her to a transit terminal and from there to another control node partway across the ring. The actual control station was a short distance from the transit terminal and as they approached, the Didact saw another Lifeworker and two Warrior-Servants, all standing a respectful distance from the console and the mangled creature tethered to it. The Lifeworker refused to meet the Didact’s gaze, just as the messenger had done. The Warriors looked at their commander, but their faces showed a confusing mix of projected pain and sadness.

The messenger, her work done, went to the other Lifeworker and they both retreated farther from the scene. He looked to one of the Warriors who tilted his head toward the console.

“They picked up the signatures from the armor,” he said in a gentle, measured tone. “We thought it might have been an error, but it seems to have been true. The Lifeworkers say there’s nothing they can do for these ones.”

Worse and worse.

The Didact said nothing in return, but slowly approached the control console. He wasn’t picking up the same identifiers his Warriors apparently had, but as he circled around what could be called the face of the lumpish creature he knew. He saw and he understood why the Lifeworkers had behaved as they did, why the Warriors had not believed what their sensors had told them. He saw, and he froze.

The creature still held the vague shape of a Forerunner on the top and front. It was mostly locked in place by strained armor and mesh and flesh that came from several other beings, but there was a visible primary head and face. It was a face he knew. It was a face he would never be able to forget. It was a face he would later want only to forget.

“Mother?” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

The shape heard or otherwise sensed the voice and opened glassy, wet eyes to stare at the frozen Warrior. For what felt like an eternity, the two simply stared at one another – the Didact refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him; the shape not seeming to register the identity of the being in front of it.

Then it changed. The eyes sharpened, cleared, and flashed something indeterminate, but something that carried recognition and a question. A question the Didact couldn’t answer or even begin to interpret.

He didn’t know what to do. He looked to the Warriors, but they had retreated away out of respect or fear or something else entirely. He looked to the inner voice, but it had also retreated, hiding somewhere out of sight behind his thoughts. He looked to the shape wearing his mother’s face and didn’t know what to do.

He had thought she was still on their home planet. A planet which was still safe from the Flood. A planet he had kept tabs on to make sure his family stayed safe. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t _be_ here. _Why was she here?_

He let out a shaky, broken sigh.

“Mother,” he said again. This time as statement, a plea. _Tell me this is a lie. Tell me you’re home and safe. **Tell me this isn’t real.**_

The eyes shifted again. Pain, sadness, apology.

The Didact suddenly felt very small. He felt, acutely, his young age and the overwhelming pressure of stepping into the shoes of someone millennia older and wiser. All the stress and frustration and loss from the past few years barreled into him in a tidal wave of emotion and he felt something inside him break. He wanted nothing more than to be able to go home. To sit in the comfort of his family and his old life. To feel his mother embrace him again.

He held up a hand and reached out as if to touch the shape. Its eyes flashed hard, **Don’t.**

He pulled his hand away and dropped it to his side.

“Are you all…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

The eyes softened, **Yes.**

“What–” he started, staring into those eyes, and his voice broke. He looked to the ground, drew in a shaky breath, and tried again. “What am I supposed to do?”

The creature shifted, the movement a jerky, pain-laced shudder. It blinked a slow, uncoordinated blink and looked down at the Didact again.

**Help us.**

His shoulders sagged and emotion flitted across his face. There was nothing they could do. Nothing they could recover from this amalgam.

The eyes watched, and shifted again.

**Help us. _Kill us._**

Deep down, he knew that was all they could do, but he didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to believe he could save his family. That they could be a family again. That he could make proper amends with his father and tease his sister and hug his mother.

The old imprint offered its unspoken support. It knew this pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the Didact said softly. His voice hitched and he balled his fists, “ _I couldn’t save you.”_

The eyes softened again, attempting to convey the message they could no longer speak, but not knowing how much it could truly translate – **We know. It’s not your fault. None of this was your fault. We’re proud of you. _We love you._**

The Didact looked away, unable to hold the gaze any longer, and turned and left, giving an unspoken signal to the Warriors as he passed. He knew what needed to be done, but he knew he would be unable to do it himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "I look back now, and wish my memory of those last days on my family’s planet would leave me forever, for they bring only an extraordinary pain. I never saw my family again - alive and free." (Halo: Cryptum)


End file.
